Work Text:
Porsche is so hungry.
The weekend rush is always busy enough, but with 3 of the staff sick within the last week, he’s had to pick up a lot of the slack and he is just about done with it. The tips have been nice, but without any real time to stop by the store to shop, he’s been averaging a meal a day, supplemented with a handful of snacks throughout. Even worse, it’s getting to that time of the month and his teeth are itchy as hell.
“Porsche! Are you even listening?”
He suddenly snaps out of his grumpy reminiscing as Yok’s voice finally breaks through. Meeting her eyes, he sees a tinge of worry before he scans the bar and notices it strangely empty.
“Where is everyone?” Porsche looks at the clock on the wall and catches that it’s barely past 10, about an hour before they usually start closing up. He returns to look at Yok, obviously perplexed by the relative quiet.
“Porsche…You didn’t even notice me starting to corral customers and close up? We’re closing early today; you’re obviously exhausted. There’s only a bit of cleanup left, so you can head out–I’ll finish up.” Yok makes her way to him and starts unceremoniously nudging him out from behind the bar toward the staff room.
“ Shit shit shit”
“Wait!” Porsche scrambles away from her, putting his hands up in a halting position as she looks at him expectantly, lips pursed, hands on her hips, and obviously ready to carry him out if she has to. It wouldn’t be the first time, and Porsche doubts he’s faced the last. “I can close up. I need a little something to even me out before I head home or I’m going to be restless the whole night.”
He isn’t necessarily lying. In his carelessness, he missed an opportunity to meet someone tonight, and now his best shot was a distracted bar hopper deciding on their next stop before last call. He really needs this.
Yok scrutinizes him for a moment before letting out an exaggerated sigh, skeptical but defeated. “Fine. You’re just too charming for your own good; it’s dangerous.” She crosses her arms and finishes with a pout. Porsche flashes her a wide smile.
“That’s why I’m your best.” He darts in for a quick kiss on her cheek, deftly avoiding her playful swats before bouncing back toward the bar to start wiping down. Yok slowly makes her way to the back, straightening out a few things as she goes. Porsche can tell she’s making a show of it, giving Porsche an opportunity to call her back in case he changes his mind and decides to leave after all. He adores that subtle consideration of hers. She’s usually so boisterous and open about her thoughts, so it’s easy to miss these small kindnesses unless you know to look.
Once she returns with her things, she stops at the door and gives Porsche one final glance. Porsche nods his head at her and gives her a little wave, confirming that his answer is still the same. Yok gives a small snort and shakes her head before calling back, “Stay out of trouble!” before she’s gone.
Now alone, Porsche relieves some pent up tension in his body and shakes out his limbs a little. He doesn’t usually need to put up a front with Yok, but today he’s particularly irritable, and he didn’t want any of that to bleed into his interactions with her. He glances around the bar again, noting any areas he would have to tidy up. Luckily, Yok actually did most of his work for him anyway, so the bar and a couple tables in the far back were about the only things left.
“Good…” Porsche has no qualms with the work itself, even when it drags into the early hours, but today he’s feeling a bit lethargic, and that itch is persisting. Finishing up with the last table, Porsche hears the front door opening. “Damn. I guess Yok forgot to lock it.” Porsche straightens up to get a look at whatever confused drunkard stumbled in and then freezes.
He’s greeted with the sight of a man who exudes power and wealth and a swagger that says he knows it. He’s wearing an ombre suit--grey at the shoulders before blending into a deep black toward his cuffs and hem, a drastic contrast to Porsche’s black button up and slacks. His jacket and shirt are pushed open, blatantly showcasing a broad chest and an admittedly decent cup size.
At that, Porsche snaps to attention, startled out of the unexpected train of thought. The man observes him with a bemused smirk, giving a small tilt of his head before slowly taking in the bar around him. Porsche is on the verge of vibrating with agitation at the gall of this man sauntering into a clearly closed establishment, but just as he’s about to tell him off, he catches himself.
This is perfect. Now Porsche doesn’t have to wander around looking for a mark–one decided to come straight to him. It’s not his usual company, but at this point, he could stand to compromise.
During Porsche’s considerations, the man has moved a bit closer to him. Standing about a table back, he leisurely inspects Porsche up and down before finally saying, “Good evening. Are you open?”
Porsche wants to kill him.
Quickly stifling that thought, Porsche plasters on his best smile and returns with his best sickly-sweet tone. “Sorry. We’ve actually just closed, though for a potential client such as yourself, I can stand to make an exception.”
Porsche doesn’t quite have a handle on this guy yet, beyond the fact that he’s obviously loaded based on his attire and an aura that says nothing less than designer can touch his skin–which really does beg the question of what he’s doing here. The area around Hum Bar is far from luxurious, and the bar itself, while nice enough, definitely doesn’t fit that description, either.
Whatever the guy’s got going on, Porsche has to play a bit more carefully than usual, because him not being a random fling in the back means that Porsche is at a bit of a loss on how to proceed right now. Porsche’s best impression is that this is someone who doesn’t like hassle, doesn’t like snark, and doesn’t like to hear no. In other words, Porsche is probably the furthest from what the guy wants. Regardless, he’s here now, and the itch is unbearable, so time to be something he wants.
Once again adorning his customer service face, Porsche motions for the man to go to the bar where he meets him across the counter. As the man flicks back his jacket and takes a seat, Porsche grabs a dish towel and asks with practiced politeness, “So. Is there anything in particular you’d like, Mr…?”
“Kinn. You can just call me Kinn. As for the drink…” He tilts his head thoughtfully, probably more for show than anything else because he simply returns with, “Surprise me.” His eyes are boring into Porsche’s like he’s mining for secrets that Porsche is reluctant to give.
Porsche is going to kill him.
“Haha, I gotta say these always catch me off guard, so I hope you don’t mind if I take a second to think.” Kinn only responds with a subtle nod of his head, and it’s taking everything to not just throw this man out for treating him with the same consideration as a dog. Actually, no. At least people use their words when they command a dog.
Porsche turns away, using the cover of examining the bar’s alcohol selection to bite his lip and stifle any snide remarks. His eyes sweep the shelves as he considers what he’s observed from Kinn so far.
Kinn is obviously an asshole, but a rich one, so Porsche is going for the top shelf. Cryptic drink order and high end clothing aside, he doesn’t seem particularly flashy. He looks like the sort that doesn’t need to announce his wealth to impress–his aura says everything for him. He also doesn’t look like much of a sweet tooth, but a tinge can’t hurt.
Mind made up, he starts effortlessly fixing up a simple old fashioned with all his usual flourish–minus the flirting. He flames the orange peel and sets it before he slides the drink over and watches as Kinn seems to assess it.
For a moment, Porsche is worried that he read Kinn wrong, but with a small smile, Kinn brings the glass to his lips and gives it a sip. He sits there silently for a moment, making a show of considering the taste as Porsche waits with bated breath.
“Mmm. Bitter–with a sweet aftertaste. This is nice.” He gives him a little nod as he holds up the glass. Kinn stays congenial with him, but something about the air is starting to put Porsche on edge as this meeting continues. Dismissing it as the hunger, Porsche decides to try and steer the conversation to get to the main event already.
“Yeah. To be honest, that’s not the only nice thing I can do.” Porsche internally flinches. He didn’t mean that to sound like a come-on; he looks up from the counter he’s wiping down to risk a glance at Kinn, hoping the comment didn’t repulse him too much.
To Porsche’s surprise, far from repulsed, Kinn looks hungry . Porsche’s breath catches and he takes a moment to recover, but between one stunned blink to the next, Kinn’s back to that smarmy aloofness from before, and Porsche starts doubting what he saw in the first place.
“Ah, sorry. Kind of a long night–I think I’m still in bartender mode, ha ha…” As he starts wiping down the counter a bit more vigorously, he jumps a bit when Kinn’s hand falls over his own, stopping it in its tracks.
“Care to show me?”
Porsche stares at him, completely dumbfounded for what feels like the first time behind the bar. “What?” Kinn holds his gaze steadily, his hand a light but persistent pressure on Porsche’s.
“I’m asking if you care to show me? At least if that offer was serious.”
“Oh. Ok. I can work with this…” He clears his throat a bit and hits Kinn with his best smile. “If that sounds good to you, then I’m all yours.” He looks at him with hooded eyes and a glint of mischief, and the toothy smirk Kinn returns sends shivers down Porsche’s spine like he’s been caught by a predator.
“Please. What do I have to be scared about? Even if he tries anything, he’s the one in for a rude surprise.” Porsche clears away the bar as Kinn leisurely watches, eyes following the sway of his hips moving to and fro. It is at this moment that Porsche doesn’t actually know what Kinn is expecting from him. Making out? A handjob? Fucking? Shaking his head, he dismisses those questions–comfortable with the assurance that Kinn will be out of it before it gets to that.
Satisfied with his work, Porsche moves around to Kinn and gently takes his hand. He takes a moment to note the pretentious looking ring engraved with an insignia that looks almost familiar. Then he carefully leads Kinn to his usual spot, happy to be in his familiar hunting ground.
“Is it really hunting if I’m always just fishing for a nibble?”
“Something funny?”
“Huh?” Porsche stops and looks back at Kinn, eyes blinking comically as he tries to digest what Kinn’s said.
“You laughed a bit just now. I’m wondering what you were thinking about.” Kinn is looking down at him, eyes curious but sharp. They’re giving Porsche chills, but there’s still a distinct warmth in his gut at the rapt attention. Something about Kinn gives the impression that he would devour him without a second thought, but more terrifyingly is that he also makes some part of Porsche want to bare his throat in submission to it.
Realizing that he’s been silently standing there for a good few seconds, mouth agape like a beached fish, he finally replies, “Oh, uh. I just thought it was funny that you’re the first guy I’ve brought back here.” He strokes the back of his neck sheepishly, hoping Kinn buys his excuse if it has a kernel of truth embedded in it.
Kinn’s face shifts. All at once Porsche feels like he pulled one over on him but also said the wrong thing. He’s reminded of the many stories he’s heard of unsuspecting people foolishly wandering the streets in the late hours of the night, inviting company that most wouldn’t dare speak of even in whispers–company like him, though somehow he feels Kinn stripping that dynamic from him with every passing second.
“Ok, enough of this.” Steeling himself against Kinn’s piercing gaze, Porsche lines his voice with the sweetest honey and compulsion before he grasps his wrists and lazily backs Kinn against the wall. His hands now on either side of Kinn’s head, he asks, “Does that upset you? That you’re not the only one I bring back here for some fun?” Porsche nudges Kinn’s legs apart, knee settling into the warmth between where he’s met with Kinn’s blossoming interest.
“Or maybe…” Porsche moves in close, taking the opportunity to finally catch the scent of his prize. It’s intoxicating: spicy–almost like cinnamon–with a light, earthy wood char to it, as if aged in a barrel. Porsche’s mouth is watering at the richness before he continues. “Could it be you’re excited that you’re the first man I get to fuck?” As Porsche places a light kiss at the junction of his throat, he can feel Kinn’s pulse jump and, unable to contain himself, Porsche’s fangs are out and he finally goes in for a taste.
Except Porsche is met with nothing but a sudden, ringing pain as he’s flipped around and slammed against the wall; his forehead bounces off as his arms are forcibly pulled behind him in a crushing grip.
“What the fuck!?” He pushes through the daze from the impact and struggles with vigor. “Let go of me! How did you break free? What are you? FUCK!” His questions and curses devolve into grunts and hisses as he bares his fangs and loses lucidity–changing into something desperate and feral at having been denied his meal so suddenly. His eyes adopt an unnerving gold hue, further indicating his now tenuous control.
“Calm down, calm down.” Porsche can distantly hear a voice, but comprehension eludes him and he continues to fight his captor, trying to reach the wrists holding him, but simply managing to scratch himself bloody.
“Hey!” Now he’s being whirled around again, this time his back hitting the wall as Kinn holds his hands to either side of his shoulders, fingers intertwined; Porsche takes the opportunity to dig his claws into the back of Kinn’s hands, drawing blood that only serves to whip him into a deeper frenzy now that the alluring scent is uninhibited and permeating the air.
Kinn lets out a hiss and, with more swiftness than Porsche could ever hope to follow in this state–locks both of Porsche’s wrists in a one-handed grip and forces them above his head; he brings another hand to Porsche’s throat and lets out a tremorous roar in his face. The shock draws Porsche’s attention long enough to catch the dangerously sharp teeth lining Kinn’s mouth, now in a grimace as he growls at him. Porsche is ready to lash out again before he catches sight of the real threat.
Blood red eyes, overwhelming in their intensity and clearly demanding his submission.
“Fuck…” Porsche breathes out, fight suddenly draining from his body. “You’re a werewolf.”
Holding his display of dominance for a moment longer, Kinn straightens up before giving Porsche a toothy smirk, eyes no longer red, but the oppressiveness lingering all the same. “Alpha, you mean.”
Porsche responds with a scowl, flashing his fangs in an admittedly impotent display given his current predicament.
Beyond being confronted with a full fledged werewolf–an Alpha, at that–Porsche isn’t even a true vampire. He’s a spawn turned in his late teens at the whim of some no-name loan shark who couldn’t even bother to stay alive long enough to tell him what to do with this “gift.” Porsche can fight if he really gives into the bloodlust, but at this point, Kinn is one short lunge away from ending his hunts for good.
Kinn is just standing there eyeing Porsche with that casual intrigue, like a dog finding some pathetic thing writhing on the sidewalk that it hasn’t quite decided to play with or eat yet. Porsche snorts at the unintentional comparison and Kinn tilts his head to the other side, eyes narrowing as he studies him in a way that feels uncomfortably intimate.
“What!?” Porsche finally snaps, recalling some of his ferocity just so he can combat the utter indignity of the situation.
Kinn says nothing, but he slowly moves in toward Porsche’s exposed throat. It stirs newfound panic into him as he thinks of this being the end. Yok coming in to find his mangled body, Chay having to arrange the disposal of his spawn brother’s corpse, the loan sharks coming to collect on the outstanding debt.
The final thought hits Porsche like a dunk in ice water. He can’t let that happen. He can’t let Chay be burdened with his stupid mistakes–at least not any more than he already is. Porsche renews his struggles, practically babbling as he tells Kinn to not do it and he fucked up and he’ll never do it again.
It isn’t until he once again feels a hand at his throat–a feather light touch–that he realizes he’s hyperventilating. Porsche takes a moment to compose himself, somehow comforted by the steady presence. Kinn draws his head back to stare into his eyes again, and even though he can tell Kinn isn’t exerting any kind of influence over him, something about the steadfast gaze tells Porsche that he’s safe.
Once Kinn seems confident that Porsche is fully subdued and ready to stay that way, he once again closes in on his throat, reciprocating Porsche’s previous gesture of breathing in a hearty whiff of his scent. Kinn moves back completely now, releasing Porsche’s hands and giving him an extra step of space besides.
“Your blood…When did you last feed?” The question almost seems innocuous, but for creatures like them, and given the stern eyes Kinn is giving him, it’s obviously loaded with implications.
Now Porsche shuffles a bit, rolling his shoulders and rocking his weight side to side as he avoids Kinn’s stare. It feels almost petulant, as if he can somehow avoid answering by exasperating Kinn enough with the childish behavior. In reality, Porsche isn’t trying to be difficult; the answer is simply embarrassing.
“...as…th…” Porsche mumbles almost sheepishly, lips drawn back as if his scowl somehow counteracts his feeble reply.
Kinn doesn’t even say anything; he just subtly tilts an ear toward him, eyebrows raised and implicit command clear on his face.
The patronizing gesture is enough to cajole Porsche into booming out, “LAST MONTH!”
Kinn, obviously not expecting the outburst, jumps back with a grimace from the pain of a loud, sudden noise piercing through his sensitive ears. Porsche looks on with petty satisfaction as Kinn frantically massages them, even if it only lasts for a couple of seconds.
When Kinn recovers, he looks at Porsche with sincere awe, and the short lived satisfaction is already fading as anxiety seeps into him again.
“You haven’t fed in a month? How can you even manage that? You can’t thrive on a single drain a month.” Porsche finds the tone extremely irksome; he hardly appreciates being condescended to like a child–regardless of how reckless he knows he’s been.
“I don’t usually wait a complete month, more like 3 weeks or so. And I don’t even drain, so I don’t know why you’re raising such a huge fuss; it’s not like I’m going feral.” Porsche glares at the far wall, refusing to meet Kinn’s gaze throughout his rant. It isn’t until Kinn insists on staying quiet that he finally returns his attention.
Kinn has a strange expression on his face–one Porsche can’t quite place until the second before…
“What?” Kinn lets out with an amused huff. “You practically wait once a month to feed, don’t drain your victims, and you’re a spawn? Do you think you’re a werewolf with that kind of restraint? What are you thinking?” Throughout the whole thing, Kinn is gripped with restrained laughter that still rings far too loud in the otherwise quiet space.
Only a few moments of this scene at his expense has Porsche seething before he hisses out, “Will you shut up? I know stupid, dirty spawns aren’t supposed to wait so long in between feedings or we lose our feeble grip on humanity, so you can quit mocking me already.”
Porsche expects Kinn to take another five seconds or so to even out again, but he’s surprised when he almost immediately fixes him with a serious expression.
“Why are you talking like that? Who’s your sire?” Porsche feels like he’s a kid being questioned about abuse. The entire conversation is making him feel smaller than he’d ever like to feel.
“My ‘sire’ was some deadbeat loan shark who is now simply dead. What's it to you? Not like the shithead would have taught me anything, anyway–he was just collecting collateral, and I’ve been managing pretty well considering.”
Kinn visibly bristles at that and Porsche is once again gripped with fear of the man before him. He’s strangely skilled at tacitly demanding compliance without overt aggression, so Porsche actually forgot he has to be one of the most dangerous forces in Bangkok.
“If I’m honest with you, Porsche, anyone who dares to act out in my territory can only be considered lucky to be dead already.” He takes a short step forward that nonetheless places him almost right up against Porsche’s chest. The height difference between them is negligible, yet Kinn still seems to tower over him all the same, his broad frame furthering the sensation of being boxed in.
From the corner of his eye, Porsche notices a movement and realizes Kinn is raising his hand; Porsche flinches as he raises his arms to guard against the blow, but is met with nothing until he is once again accosted by that enticing aroma.
He opens his eyes and sees Kinn holding his bloody hand in front of his face, silently but clearly indicating it as an offering. He eyes Kinn with suspicion and is ready to protest when that gnawing hunger is revitalized and his objections quickly die on his lips as he instinctively bites into the soft flesh of Kinn’s palm to drink with abandon.
The sensation is euphoric. Many times Porsche has fed on the most gorgeous women that could be bothered to pass through here, but he has never been so overwhelmed with such pure ecstasy. He’s so enraptured by the high that he doesn’t realize Kinn calling for him until he’s pulled away, leaving him helpless to do anything but whimper at the devastating loss.
“Hm. You really seem to enjoy mine, huh?” Kinn is met with nothing but Porsche in a dazed stupor, eyes lidded and fully dilated. Kinn tries to snap him out of it with a light tap on the cheek, but is only met with Porsche nuzzling into his palm, sniffing and licking at the excess blood running down.
As much as Kinn projects calm, the reaction has him teeming with excitement. He’s never been confronted with a blood attachment before, much less one established so quickly. He’s pulled from his thoughts when he feels the light pricks of Porsche’s fangs again–unabashedly eager to resume his feast. Before he breaks skin, Kinn stops him and is greeted with another feeble whine.
“It’s okay, I get it. You want this right?” He holds up his hand for emphasis. Porsche leans in and nods fervently, words long lost to him by this point, so Kinn continues. “I’m willing to give you regular feedings of my blood, but I’m going to require that you come work for me as my bodyguard.”
Porsche angles his head and furrows his brow as he tries to piece together Kinn’s offer, rationality visibly trying to break through the fog in his mind to object. He shakes his head a bit and, in a panic, Kinn quickly waves his hand before his nose, watching as recognition is once again obscured by pure instinct. Porsche makes to grab it but is deftly denied by Kinn’s fast reflexes and firm voice.
“Porsche. I need you to listen. You come with me to work at the Theerapanyakun complex, and I will ensure you want for nothing. Money.” He waves his hand to one side, Porsche following it intently. “Comfort.” Now Kinn waves it to the other side. “Safety.” He waves his hand one more time, each pass coming almost imperceptibly closer to Porsche. “And this.” The hand stops abruptly right in front of his face, so close that a dab of blood transfers to the tip of Porsche’s nose. “But you have to follow my orders. Do we have a deal?”
Porsche’s eyes are fixated on the temptation displayed in front of him before he raises them to meet Kinn’s directly. For a second, Kinn’s stomach plummets as he sees the fire return to Porsche’s eyes and fears he’s missed his opportunity to ensnare this peculiar little vamp, though relief crashes over him when Porsche just maintains eye contact and rasps out:
“Deal.”
With that, he continues to satiate his ravenous hunger with little regard to Kinn’s comfort. The inconsideration doesn’t phase Kinn as he simply lets out a huff of relief and watches Porsche with borderline fondness, though he’d be loathe to admit it.
Instead, Kinn tells himself that the feeling is a sense of accomplishment–satisfaction at gaining such a valuable and receptive asset for the family. Content with this excuse, he again turns his focus to Porsche, observing the gluttonous display before him and quietly musing with no particular intent, “Don’t forget: your life is mine.”